


I'm Not Vanilla

by goodlivin2u



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sassy Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 19:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17855825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodlivin2u/pseuds/goodlivin2u
Summary: Being the head of his family's business, Dean lives in a world of luxury. Anything he wants, he can have, and no one tells him otherwise. That is, until he meets Castiel Novak one night at a club. Rough sex ensues, and Dean loves every minute of it. Will he go from a comfortable, boring life to finally living on the edge (and possibly edging himself)? See how far he's willing to go in order to feel something - anything - and make up for lost time.





	I'm Not Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> Based on JenSpinner's prompt, art, and title found on the Destiel Port facebook page.

As Dean turned the corner and walked down the street, he pulled his leather jacket a bit closer and checked to see if anyone was following him. Although he was headed for the club, he hardly wanted to draw attention. He hoped his jeans, t-shirt, and flannel were inconspicuous enough.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), Dean knew the 2nd Circle of Hell Club quite well. Many years ago, Crowley brought him in as one of the first employees and was grooming him to take it over one day. But as Dean became older than most of the club’s patrons, he knew that this party lifestyle wasn’t for him. Thankfully, that was around the same time that Dean’s dad named him the head of daily operations at their family business, Winchester Auto. Dean’s first project there was to oversee the buying of Singer Salvage Yard. It was sad because Dean honestly liked Mr. Singer, but Dad was counting on him. If everything went right with that initial sale, Dean was on track to one day inherit his father’s business and become President and CEO of the company.

Fast forward fifteen years later, and Dean’s dream came true. He had the corner office with the best view, a personal assistant named Kevin Tran that would do anything from pick up his dry cleaning to act as a footrest during meetings (yeah, he did that once), and women that constantly threw themselves at him. All Dean had to do was sign papers and hold the occasional press conference. Very rarely did he actually visit any auto shops or get his hands dirty. It wasn’t ideal, but that was the price he had to pay for this level of luxury.

The thing was, though… nothing excited him anymore, which is why he found himself on the corner of 2nd Street and about to walk into one of the most notorious clubs on this side of town. His secretary Becky was always telling him to “loosen up, take a night off, and have some fun, Mr. Winchester.” She didn’t specify _what_ kind of fun he should have, though…

Once inside, Dean grabbed a shot glass off of one of the many serving trays that were circulating around the room. He didn’t know what liquid was inside, but after a moment’s consideration, he found that he didn’t really care. He threw back the alcohol and felt the familiar burn. Ah yes, the Molotov Cocktail. It was exactly what he needed to jumpstart the night (even if Dean admitted to himself that his version back in the day lit a far more powerful fire inside the body than this one did. No matter – it would have to do).

He did a quick lap around the room, scanning for potential hook-ups. Her? No, she was too drunk. Him? Nah. Once the guy turned around, Dean saw how low his pants hung – next! Hmm… everyone seemed so young.

There was one guy in the corner that looked to be around Dean’s age. His tie hung loose around his neck and his hair was mussed up as if he had been pulling at it all day in frustration at his desk job. The guy stood out like a sore thumb, and his resting bitch face made it seem like he didn’t even want to be there. But need and want were two different things, and maybe the man came here needing an escape from reality. Perhaps he wasn’t all that different from the other clubgoers after all.

Dean shot him a wink and then decided to head to the bathroom – his body demanding a much-less sexy type of release. He had just opened the front of his jeans when he found himself pinned against the wall with his hands above his head.

“What the fuck, dude?” he spat out, pushing back against the surprisingly heavy weight.

“You winked at me and then came in here, signaling you wanted to engage in sexual acts.”

“I did not! That was _so_ not a signal.”

“It is here.”

God, how long had Dean been out of the game? Had times changed that much?

“I came here to pee, and unless you’re into watersports, I suggest you let me go.”

The man hesitated for a moment only, and then stepped backwards. Dean awkwardly pushed past him and speed-walked towards the urinals.

Halfway through his stream, Dean said: “I can feel your eyes boring into the back of my skull. It’s creepy to stare at someone urinating, you know.”

“Fine. I’ll just wait here then.”

Dean finished up and washed his hands before turning around to face him.

“Wait here for –” the question died on his lips as the stranger claimed them with his own. The two men made out for a minute or two before Dean pulled away to catch his breath, trying to get oxygen to the necessary parts of his brain.

“Whoa. Slow down there, cowboy. What’s the rush?” Dean asked, still panting. “You have somewhere else you need to be soon?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think this is going a bit too fast, then?”

The man sighed, raking his hands through his hair. Dean mentally high-fived himself for getting that guess right earlier.

“So you’re one of those guys? I knew it was too good to be true. No one our age goes out looking for a quick fuck anymore.”

Hearing that almost made Dean feel sorry for the guy, but he remembered what other things the man had said.

“’One of those guys?’ Tell me, what kind of guy am I?” he asked, feeling his irritation grow by the minute.

“You probably wanted to actually get to know each other, maybe have a drink, go out on a date or two, and then have sex.”

 _Sounds about right_ , Dean thought. Maybe this wasn’t the place for that specific sequence of events, but it still was a prominent fantasy he dreamed about every so often.

“Is that too much to ask for these days?” he finally asked.

The stranger looked at him as if Dean was the crazy one. “We’re making out in the bathroom of a club – what did you expect to happen?”

Dean honestly hadn’t gotten that far. He just came in to pee, dammit! He still had his dick hanging out of his pants, for God’s sake.

“I… I don’t know,” came his lame reply. Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Do you not want this? Because I can go back out there and find a hundred willing boys – albeit younger ones, but still. They’re a dime a dozen these days.”

“No!” Dean yelled a bit too enthusiastically, thereby making up his mind. “I want this.”

The stranger raised one eyebrow as if to challenge him. “Then prove it to me. Show me why I should waste my time with you.”

Dean grabbed the front of the man’s shirt as he plundered his mouth with all he had. He licked inside and within seconds, engaged in a battle for dominance as both men’s tongues met each other. If you were to ask Dean’s opinion, he thought that it went pretty well.

The stranger was the first to pull back this time, but only far away enough to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Ooh. Better try harder than that, or else I’m leaving in 3…2…1 –“

Dean ripped open the man’s pants, sending a button flying across the room. He distantly heard the ‘kerplop’ sound it made as it hid the inside of one of the toilets.

The man patted Dean’s cheek. “Good boy.”

Dean hated how much he loved this – the thrill of being caught, how his dick reacted so quickly to orders given, the eventual angry sex and enemies-to-lovers aspect that he had only seen in movies… it created one hell of a build-up for a bomb waiting to go off inside him.

Dean wrapped his hand around both of their cocks and started stroking. God, the friction felt amazing! He almost forgot what it felt like to touch another man’s penis, it had been that long.

The pleasure was short-lived, however, as the stranger pushed his hand away and trapped Dean’s cock against his stomach.

“Uh-uh,” he said. “You’ll have your turn, but you have to work for it first. Give it to me as good as you want to get it.” Dean felt his hand being guided back to the other man’s body. He instinctively wrapped his fingers around the length again as he smeared pre-come with his thumb.

After a few strokes, he stupidly opened his mouth to finally introduce himself. Better late than never, right?

“I’m Dean,” he said.

The stranger grabbed Dean’s chin with his hand. “Did I say you could talk? You think you can just run that pretty mouth of yours whenever you want? No. No names, no ‘what’s your sign or favorite flower’ bullshit. No exchanging information. This is a quick and dirty fuck, a one-time only offer. Think you can follow those rules?”

Dean nodded.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, _sir_.”

Dean couldn’t believe the ego on this guy! And yet, he found himself grating out those two words. “Yes, sir.”

“Besides,” the guy in front of him drawled, an evil smirk playing across his face. “Your mouth is better suited for other things.”

He pushed Dean to the floor and pulled his bottom lip down. “Open,” the man commanded. He thrust his cock inside, pulling Dean’s hair tighter with each movement.

Dean knew the basics (and then some) of a good blow job. It had been years since he’d given one - probably hadn’t been since the Crowley era, if he was being honest. He had perfected his technique in the stalls of this exact bathroom, back when glory holes were all the rage. Dean hoped that Crowley had enough sense to build new stalls – those things were highly unsanitary and the legality of them was questionable at best.

At least the guy was enjoying himself. Dean heard muffled grunts every so often, and the man held tight to Dean’s shoulder, enough for Dean to feel the heat of him searing through the fabric. However, he could also tell that the man was holding back, which could only mean that he wasn’t planning on coming down Dean’s throat any time soon. Dean gave a few more sucks before popping off and standing up.

“Did I say I was finished?”

“No, but it’s getting hot in here,” Dean said as he peeled off both his flannel and t-shirt underneath.

“Well, as long as _you’re_ comfortable…” the man scoffed. “I guess you won’t mind that I’ll have to come in your ass now? It’s only fair.”

“That isn’t fair!”

“No, you’re right. I’m being more than generous,” the stranger said as he walked them backwards into a stall and rolled one of Dean’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Dean moaned at finally being touched.

“I hate you so-ohhh” Dean couldn’t finish his sentence. He let himself close his eyes and get lost in the pleasure. ‘Hate’ was such a strong word, he thought. How could he dislike anyone that made him feel like this?

The man leaned in close and purred: “You say ‘I hate you,’ but all I hear is ‘fuck me.’”

His voice alone could make Dean come – everything else happening right now was just a bonus in his opinion. That is, until the stranger flipped Dean around to face the wall and bent him over the toilet. He gasped as his cheek felt the cold metal hardware.

“I hope you prepped yourself before coming here,” the stranger added, pulling down Dean’s pants and underwear. They were only held up by where Dean’s thighs pressed against the toilet. “It would be a shame if you had to wait any longer than absolutely necessary.”

The man rustled around in his pockets to find two packets of lube. Dean heard the rip of foil and the anticipation made his cock that much harder.

The stranger squirted lube on his fingers before pressing one inside. After a second finger was inserted and scissored Dean open, the man asked: “You good?” but Dean wasn’t sure if it was meant as a question or a statement. He knew he probably should be stretched more, but he was looking forward to that burn.

It did not disappoint. Dean reveled in the fact that being able to feel things meant he was _alive_. There were days when he woke up, did his 9-to-5 job, ordered takeout for dinner, and went to bed so he could do it all again tomorrow. There were too many of those days, and sometimes he couldn’t remember a single conversation he had, what he wore or ate that day, or if he even smiled (fake or otherwise). He was just a body that mindlessly did the work put in front of him.

There were many people that admired and respected Dean – some even went as far as to worship him. But tonight he had to earn that good favor, and the challenge was both refreshing and humbling.

The man behind Dean was holding his hips so tightly as he fucked him, that Dean knew there would be finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. Good, he wanted to remember this. He wanted a souvenir, even if it was temporary.

“Thanks for using a condom, dude.” Dean said in between groans. He couldn’t hear much of anything except their skin slapping together or pants of breath and grunts interspersed. The man behind him mumbled something, which Dean didn’t catch.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“I said ‘I’m horny, not careless.’”

The stranger sped up his thrusts and reached around to jerk Dean’s dick off to the same pace. They were both close, and a minute later, Dean found himself spilling into the bottom of the toilet. At least there was minimal clean-up.

The man pulled out behind him, and Dean involuntarily grimaced. Apart from that, though, he remained still, watching the man pull off his condom, tie it in a knot, and throw it in the waste receptacle just shy of Dean’s face.

Afterwards, the stranger wiped himself quickly and zipped his jeans, walking towards the door without a second thought of Dean, who was still bent over the toilet with his pants down.

“What, you’re just going to leave me here like this?” he yelled over his shoulder.

“I assume you know how to take care of yourself in order to prevent sub-drop. We’re both adults and aftercare is a personal responsibility. Own up to it – you shouldn’t have to rely on me or anyone else to do it for you. There is no reason to blame me for what happens after I leave here tonight.”

That all made sense to Dean, and but did the guy have to be so rude?

After looking back at Dean one final time, the stranger left. The slam of the bathroom door reverberated on the walls, and Dean felt safe enough to stretch. He didn’t bother touching his ass as it was still a bit sore. He’d deal with it when he got home.

Once in his car and at a stoplight, he chugged a bottle of water that he found on the floor. Sammy must have left it there the other day, that health freak.

He opened the door to his house a few minutes later. There weren’t any lights on, but he knew the interior of the house well enough to make it to his room without much effort. As he passed by the hall mirror, though, he caught sight of a neon green blur. Detouring towards the bathroom, Dean turned on the lights and touched his body where he thought he saw green. Feeling a gooey liquid, he deduced that it must be leftover lube. Dean turned off the light, and the color appeared again. Huh, Crowley was shelling out the big bucks these days for glow-in-the-dark lube!

The room still dark, Dean pulled down his pants and separated his ass cheeks a little, being careful of his soreness. Indeed, what he saw gave new meaning to the phrase ‘the sun shines out of his ass.’

Dean debated whether or not to keep the lube in there overnight as one more reminder. Oh, but it was so gross! He decided to take a shower, but only after he took a picture of his shiny hiney.

He sent it to his best friend Jo, who replied _‘TMI. That’s an image I won’t be able to get out of my head. Where’s the brain bleach when you need it?’_

A minute later, a second text from her came through his phone: _‘You had fun though?’_

Dean typed back: _‘He fucked me so hard that I saw Jesus. I’m not even Christian! Do you know how hard you have to be fucked in order to see someone else’s God?’_

Jo sent the crying-from-laughter emoji, followed up by a _‘no, and frankly I don’t want to know.’_

His reply? _‘Suit yourself. More fun for me.’_

_‘You know, most people go to church if they want to get in touch with their spiritual side instead of fucking their brains out on the Lord’s Day.’_

_‘Lucky me, then. I always am telling you to work smarter, not harder.’_

_‘Oh, but I bet you were worked over until you were hard tonight, Winchester. Gonna see him again?’_

_‘No… maybe. I don’t know, he seemed like the love-‘em-and-leave-‘em type.’_

_‘So, you met your equivalent then?’_

While Dean wasn’t as ruthless as the man back at the club, he wasn’t known for long-term relationships. He hated when Jo was right.

 _‘SCREW YOU.’_ he shot back.

_‘Nah, maybe next time. I’m not a girl who likes someone else’s sloppy seconds. Plus, you’re probably worn out, am I right?'_

_‘Yeah. Good night, Jo.’_

He finished up in the bathroom before heading to bed. As he was falling asleep, one last text came through.

_‘Hey, you have as many freckles on your face as you do your ass. And your eyes are green and so is your ass now. Therefore, when I call you Butt-Face, am I being redundant?’_


End file.
